


liquid crystals

by Youngblood27 (howrseluvar)



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Death, Full Moon, Gen, I'm sorry this is sad, Murder, Other, Pack Family, Violence, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-15
Updated: 2013-03-15
Packaged: 2017-12-05 08:38:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/721071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/howrseluvar/pseuds/Youngblood27
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's raining.</p>
            </blockquote>





	liquid crystals

**Author's Note:**

> This is the product of temporary insomnia and no beta'ing, plus an overwhelming desire to use some vocabulary.  
> Not a good combo, especially when I'm not feeling very "up", so this story turned out really tragic. Fair warning.

It’s raining. The soft sounds of liquid crystals hitting the soft blades of grass, the surface of the oak leaves up above, the small boulders and rocks that line the forest, they all make a soft pitter-patter, each varying in their own special way. The sweet smell of water hitting the aromatic earth is tingling at his nose, teasing him with the smells of the blooming flowers and such that were vivaciously coming to life at this point in the springtime.

He had the urge to run everywhere, sniff everything, run, and play like a boisterous, youthful wolf. Even the carnal, primal pull of the moon could do nothing to suppress his natural jovial tendencies. It’s what always got him into trouble as a pup – his desire to be out exploring. Always full of energy and life, he was often the one being dragged back by the scruff in a various array of messes by his mother. Not only in his lupine form would such incidents occur, he’d often come home with injuries ranging from a scraped knee to a broken arm. His mother would chuckle and thank her lucky stars he healed fast.

His mother, his father, his family. His family pack, who let him go off tonight because they understand his joy of the rain, even though he will come home a sopping, musty, muddy mess. Who gave up their whole lives – and sacrificed their basement – to protect the son that would be holding the Alpha title someday soon. The same ones who understood his need for an “exception” here or there in his schoolwork, who still saved penny after penny hoping for him to go to a good school soon. The same two parents who promised to protect their marriage at all costs for him. He would be eternally grateful.

A loud, piercing boom fills the air and disrupts all the tranquil silence. In an instant, he is searching for the source. His brain is on overdrive, _fight or flight, fight or flight_. He moves into a graceful lope, dodging various scattered earthly items, choosing flight over fight much like other frightened animals. He turned East, heading for the safety of his pack borders, or even safer from the Hunters, the safety of his home.

He feels it before he hears it. It’s like crushing feeling, burning like somebody shot a tiny missile into him. He staggers off his path and fathers, halting his run. The accompanying _boom_ , confirming what he already guessed in his suppressed human mind.

He can’t feel the blood dripping. His body is failing, though, and he staggers on in the blind hope of a few more steps, for the safety of his family, before his body caves and he falls. He lay as his body slowly seeps a crimson stream, breathing heavily and whimpering occasionally. His life flashes before him. His father, his mother, his first transformation. The time they all cooked the Christmas lasagna. his sixth birthday party, where he met his best friend. School, though no particular part of it. The time he tried smoking. When he was told he’d be Alpha one day, the excitement that had come with it.

Frank heaves a half-howl. _I love you mom, I love you dad. I’m sorry._ It tapers off with a whimper, his breaths now staggered and painful. A figure lurks to him, stepping through the terrain slowly. He forces his eyes open, forces himself to look.

A trenchcoat, a khaki trenchcoat. Only one person he knew owned such an item. That same person had also shared horror movies and comic books, CDs and cigarettes, even pajamas with him. They shared memories, photographs, the same that currently lay in his room and on his phone. All this time, and yet he’d never guessed that his best friend was a Hunter. 

Now, when his best friend shot him in the chest.

His blood now mars the blossoming, propagating earth, the first of the creatures to perish for the season.

It’s raining, and young Frank Iero closes his eyes and dies.


End file.
